


Flight Muscles

by timeheist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-31
Updated: 2013-01-31
Packaged: 2017-11-27 16:27:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/664054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timeheist/pseuds/timeheist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean had to hand it to the angel, the muscles in his stomach were actually pretty damn ripped.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flight Muscles

Dean had to hand it to the angel, the muscles in his stomach were actually pretty damn ripped.

It probably had something to do with the wings. Muscles that you needed to support you in the air, or birds having hollow bones, or some scientific shit that Sammy would probably understand better than he did. Dean'd not actually seen Castiel fly, but the way he watched birds in the sky, hell, the way he even watched the bees, made Dean think that he could. Talking about feelings wasn’t exactly what he was good at, if his attempts with Sammy were anything to go by, which was why he hadn’t asked him about it. He would have offered to go up in a plane or let him sky dive or something but, well, that involved a whole new ID and getting on a plane so that, too, was out. And so he left him to it, and did his best not to bring up the topic of birds, the air, or flying. Avoiding things, unlike talking about things, was something that Winchesters could do.

Avoiding the topic became considerably easier when they had sex; more accurately, after they had sex, and were lying in bed together. Deadpan or not, Castiel knew what he was doing and Dean had already made all the jokes. Apparently the one about the angel Gabriel and a certain famous virgin actually had some truth to it, because Castiel had utterly failed to get the joke… More to the point, he knew what he was doing after the act to and he stuck around, which was more than Dean could say about most of his lays. He would just lie there in bed, still, one arm slung out lazily for Dean to lie against and put up with whatever angst-ridden mood Dean found himself in by the end of the night until the tension was gone and they fell asleep (or at least, he assumed Castiel slept; the idea that he might just watch him sleep all night was kinda creepy even from a hunter's perspective).

Both of them had mussed hair, and their bodies were slick with sweat. One or the other of them had thrown the sheets clumsily over their dignity and Dean was staring up at the ceiling with a drunken look on his face; his head rested against Castiel's shoulder, and one calloused hand was trailing messy circles into the heat of his angel lover's midriff. His breath was ragged but Castiel’s was smooth, heh, angelic, almost. Dean licked his lips, resolving himself before pushing up from the bed and straddling the angel’s legs with the motel sheets tangled around his hips.

He did it without even thinking, pressing his lips to the angel’s pelvis, waiting for the shocked buckle of his legs before the other man sank into the mattress with an acquiescing hum. Dean moved his mouth upwards, pressing small kisses around the angel’s navel, licking and sucking and biting at the skin of his side and his stomach, nuzzling against him and taking in the smell of him after sex, and the smell that he’d only ever been able to describe as ‘angel’. Castiel made a few, small noises; Dean continued for a good few minutes, marking and investigating every inch of the man’s stomach, fastidiously learning every part of him.

“Damn it Cas why didn’t I do this before…?”

“I don’t know Dean, I’m not you.”

Dean could have sworn that Castiel’s voice was huskier, slower, and that was good enough for him. He chuckled, slapped him gently on the thigh and went back about his business.


End file.
